


Swole Eater

by skadventuretime



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Gym towel AU, MMA, Maka is a bamf; what's new?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skadventuretime/pseuds/skadventuretime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if, instead of a scythe, Soul's weapon form had been a gym towel? MMA AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swole Eater

**Author's Note:**

> This started because of a tumblr exchange between me and sojustifiable and now you have gym towel Soul. This will be a multi-chapter collection.

Gym days were Soul's favorite.

Not only did it get him out of his room, but it also meant he got some quality time with his best-friend-slash-roommate-slash-unrequited-love Maka Albarn. He'd come to Death City on a whim after learning one of his great-great-great-grandparents had been a weapon and met Maka in a coffee shop. She was looking for a partner, and decided it had to be Soul after hearing him play the piano at the back of the cafe. She even let him stay at her place until his weapon gene expressed itself, something she had been certain would happen soon. Maka talked his ear off about her dreams of making the EAT class and being a better scythemeister than her mother. Soul had admired her drive and determination and decided right there that he'd try his best to help her achieve her goals.

But when his weapon gene revealed itself in a very underwhelming manner (poor Maka was so surprised when the kitchen towel she thought she grabbed let out a shrill scream), advancing to the prestigious EAT class became laughably impossible. Soul had been certain that Maka would back out of their new, piano-forged partnership in favor of someone who could help her surpass her mother's achievements.

She didn't.

Instead, she'd shrugged and said that her mother was also an accomplished MMA fighter, as if that settled it.

So while weapon-meister pairs were learning how to duck, weave, and slice pre-Kishin, Maka was squatting, sparring, and rear-naked-choking her way to an MMA title. Soul provided moral support. And Errant Liquid Zone Control™. Okay, his 'weapon' form was a gym towel; if his lot in life was to soak the sweat from Maka's fit and supple body, so be it.

Today's workout promised to be a tough one because it was on the heels of a grueling sparring match. Maka had been rolling with the strongest fighters in the gym just a few days prior and Soul wasn't sure if the nasty cut under her eye he'd fretted over would stay shut. But this was Maka 'Thighce Grip' Albarn, and she did not let a few scrapes and bruises stop her from getting stronger.

On the docket for the day were power cleans, overhead presses, and back squats as part of her twice-weekly strength training regimen. Soul knew Maka would be eager to get to the gym as early as possible to secure an elusive squat rack, so he made sure her gym bag was packed and waiting by the door before she finished changing. He also surreptitiously set her iPod to open on his newest playlist, one he hoped would keep her energy up without subjecting him to repetitive EDM beats when he inevitably ended up thrown across her neck.

They made it to the gym in good time, Soul relishing the way it felt to have Maka pressed against his back as they wove through afternoon traffic. It became apparent they missed the memo for a Bro Science fan meet up, however, because when they arrived the place was crawling with stringer-clad meatheads in desperate need of leg day.

"Who invited these guys?" Soul growled, glaring at a few of them who were openly oogling Maka's strong, spandex'd thighs.

"Who knows. As long as they don't cause trouble, it'll be fine. Anyway, you should go ahead and transform now - don't want to scare the newbies."

"Yeah yeah," Soul grumbled, transforming with a flash into a red and black zigzag patterned gym towel. Maka grabbed him from midair and settled him comfortably around her neck before pushing through the double doors of Death City Gym.

Not one to dally before before a workout, she strode towards the back of the gym where the barbell equipment was located. But before she could scan the room for open squat racks, she was stopped by a man with a curious piercing on the bridge of his nose and the most unnecessarily long workout gloves Soul had ever seen.

"Cardio equipment's that way," he sneered, jerking his thumb towards the fleet of treadmills and ellipticals on the gym's perimeter.

Maka raised an eyebrow. "And?"

This should be good, Soul thought with glee. He doesn't know. _He doesn't know._

"And a pretty little number like you should be tryin' to maintain that lean body you got goin' for ya. Wouldn't want to look manly by lifting, now would you?" The man pushed off of the machine he'd been leaning against and swaggered into Maka's personal space.

 _Strike one,_ Soul thought, seething. But his trust and confidence in Maka was absolute; if she thought she could handle it, she could handle it. He'd be there in the unlikely event dealing with this scum caused her to break a sweat.

"What's your name?" Maka asked calmly, jade eyes betraying none of the fury Soul could feel from his position on her pulse.

He leaned in closer. "Giriko. Bet I could make you scream it."

_Strike two._

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

Giriko extended a gloved hand to cup her chin, smiling wolfishly. "I like 'em feisty - makes it more fun when you get 'em begging for more."

_Strike three - you're out!_

Maka glanced at the hand still on her face and then back at its owner. "I didn't say you could touch me," she said evenly, but made no move to step away. Maka Albarn had never lost a game of chicken in her life and she wasn't about to start.

Giriko lifted his other hand, clearly intending to grab another part of her, when Maka had enough. It didn't matter that she fought in the strawweight division, because she was _strong_ and she was _smart_ and no more axe-infused misogyny would be tolerated today.

Grabbing his extended wrist to tug him down to her level, Maka locked her arms around the back of his neck. In one fluild motion, she twisted herself so her back was flush with his chest for the split second it took to twist her hips and throw him over her shoulder.

Giriko hit the floor with a wheeze as Maka landed on her side on top of him, but she wasn't done yet. Arms still secured around the back of his neck, Maka pressed her weight down to keep him pinned while she hopped her left leg over his chest.

Straddling him briefly, Maka spared Giriko a cheeky smile before releasing her arms from behind his neck and sitting back on her left leg, grabbing his right arm as he tried to push her off.

 _Checkmate,_ Soul thought smugly as he watched her finish the arm bar, rolling back with Giriko's arm held tight to her chest and legs uncompromising across his neck and torso.

Giriko scrabbled uselessly on the floor, trying to muscle his way out of the hold, but Maka quickly put an end to that by lifting her hips and pressuring the elbow joint that was now being crushed against her hips.

"I also like it when they beg," she told him sweetly. "So get to it."

"You fuckin' bitch!" Giriko snarled, still trying to roll out of her grip but realizing that only made it worse.

She cranked his arm another inch. "What was that?"

"Ahhh, shit, oww owww, fuck, I'm sorry, okay, jeez, please don't break my arm."

Satisfied, Maka released him. Soul was struggling to get a handle on the way Slightly Sadistic Maka made him feel things he probably shouldn't be feeling given the situation. _I also like it when they beg._ Yep, that one's going to haunt his dreams for the next decade or so. It didn't help one bit that he knew he'd be on his knees in an instant if she ever gave the word.

At this point, the whole population of what was affectionately known as the Meat Section of the gym had seen what went down and were busy laughing at Giriko's retreating frame. "That'll teach you to mess with Maka 'Thighce Grip' Albarn!" one of the regulars hooted. "Yeah," said another, "That girl's got mad floor game! I'm actually kinda jealous - I wish she'd beat me up!" Soul couldn't catch anything else as the rest of the room devolved into various levels of agreement with that statement (from the sounds of it, overwhelmingly positive), and he found himself wondering what it'd be like to have her vice-like thighs around his neck.

He was going to Hell.

Luckily for them, all the commotion cleared out the mass of testosterone that had been clogging up the squat racks, so they were able to claim one easily for once. The start of their workout was delayed, however, because some idiots were doing curls in the squat rack beside them and Maka had to kindly point them towards the free weights so the timid looking high schoolers standing off to the side could use the rack for its actual purpose.

They were further delayed when Maka glanced in the mirror and noticed a lone bro struggling to bench 225 while his spotter talked loudly on the phone, back to his slowly asphyxiating friend. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Maka stalked over to the abandoned lifter and singlehandedly yanked the barbell from the gasping man's chest onto the rack. Soul had to whisper in her ear about losing their spot or else she would have spent 15 minutes lecturing the poor men about basic lifting safety and the need to have an _attentive_ spotter when you're pushing your max weight.

Finally, _finally,_ she settled into her routine. This was Soul's favorite part; it was Maka vs. Maka, fierce, determined, unyielding Maka staring herself down in the mirror before every set. He could feel her arms tremble when she picked him up during scheduled rests to wipe her brow, but when time was up she was back at the bar, all business. It gave him chills.

Of course all good things come to an end, and so it was when fellow fighter Black*Star kicked down the door of the gym as Maka finished her overhead presses.

"Ayyyy, there's the reigning princess of kick-assery! I heard you gave it good to Giriko - I've been meaning to have a word with that creep ever since he gave Tsubaki the up-down."

Maka smiled at him and said, "First of all, I think you mean _Queen_ of kick-assery, and yes, I put him in his place. Honestly, I'll never understand why guys like that think it's okay to touch people without asking."

Black*Star grimaced and said, "Yeah, he's scuzzy all right. Anyway, you ain't queen yet! One more match decides if you'll be in the title fight, right? Also, you gotta see this newbie Justin Law's guillotine. It's insane!"

Maka shook her head. "I haven't seen it yet, but I'll take a look next time I'm around open mat. And my match is next Saturday night. I'm fighting someone who goes by Mizune, but I looked at her stats and I'm not too worried. Seems like she falls apart under pressure."

Black*Star laughed heartily. "If anyone can get to the title fight, it's you Maka. I still have marks on my neck from that triangle choke last time we sparred. You're not 'Thighce-Grip' Albarn for nothing, huh?"

Maka laughed, silk over steel, and said, "Glad somebody around here knows it. But I'm in the middle of my routine, so let's catch up later."

It was then Black*Star noticed Soul around Maka's neck, and he waggled his eyebrows at him suggestively. "I see, need help with your clean and jerk, huh?"

Maka's face darkened. "Black*Star…"

"What, I'm sure he'd love to see your snatch- OW!"

Black*Star hopped back and forth on each foot, rubbing his glutes tenderly with a hand. "The hell was that for Maka?"

Winding Soul around in a tight circle, Maka brandished him at Black*Star. "There's more where that came from if you keep mouthing off!"

Soul never signed up for this. He was but a humble gym towel, meant to absorb his best friend's sweat and maybe act as an impromptu blanket when she fell asleep on the mat after a long night of training.

But _a towel whip? Really?_

"Oy, Maka, you're making me dizzy! Tone it down, will ya?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Soul," Maka said sheepishly, her already flushed cheeks darkening. "Are you okay?"

"You try being forcibly flung towards your friend's butt," he grumbled, flouncing the corners of his towel body moodily.

In truth, Soul was trying to figure out if the rush he felt when Maka gripped him for the attack was due to some deep-seated weapon instinct or if it was just that anything Maka did with authority kinda turned him on.

"Ha ha, guess you really ARE whipped, Soul! OW, ow, okay, okay, I'll leave you alone."

Black*Star's hasty retreat provided the relative quiet Maka needed to finish her workout. Soul tried his best not to let on that the way she held him while she mopped the sweat from her face and neck was causing warmth to pool in his currently nonexistent stomach.

Something in his demeanor must have alerted her that something wasn't right, though, because she stopped wiping her face to look at his zigzags consideringly.

"Do you ever get bored just sitting there while I work out? I don't want to waste your time or keep you from doing anything you want to do."

"Nah, it's cool. I'm happy supporting you and keeping that nerdy face dry."

Maka stuck her tongue out and swatted him playfully; he shivered at the contact.

This didn't go unnoticed. Maka quirked an eyebrow and said, "If a little hit like that is making you wince, maybe you need some gym time."

Soul was too busy counting his lucky stars that Maka didn't understand what really made his fibers flutter to catch what she said next.

"Hm, what?" he asked, noticing she was looking at him expectantly.

"I said I could train you. Then we could do some of those partner workouts I've been wanting to try."

Soul repressed the high-pitched wheeze that threatened to leak out of his entire being. Thinking about Maka physically correcting his form and using that commanding voice on him was not helping his brain keep things Strictly Platonic.

Soul gulped, not quite sure how to verbalize that he very much wanted her to train him, make him hers in whatever way she wanted, without ruining the solid friendship they had going for them.

Maka took his silence as assent and chirped, "Great! We'll start after my next fight. Before you know it, _you'll_ be benching _me!_ "

Soul groaned as Maka re-settled him around her neck. "I still can't believe that happened. I'm never letting you listen to Black*Star's dares ever again."

Giggling, she replied, "I don't think you could stop me if you tried, Soul."

If only she knew the half of it.

As they were packing up to leave, Maka ran a thoughtful hand over the piece of Soul hanging by her heart. "You know, maybe we can roll together, too. It'll be good to switch up your routine so your body doesn't get used to any one workout. And I feel like I've been so busy getting ready for the title fight that I haven't spent enough time with you lately. But when you're on the mat with someone, you have an entire conversation without opening your mouth; it's all about feeling your opponent's intentions and their emotions from the way they move and how they breathe." She blushed, adding, "I'd like to experience that with you, Soul."

If Soul had had a mouth in this form, it would have been gaping. "Ah, I'd uh, like that too. You know I'm bad with words anyway."

"Yeah, I know," she smiled, eyes soft and full of something Soul didn't dare name. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Snuggling into Maka's neck as she left the building, Soul thought about how he had a few new reasons to look forward to the gym.


End file.
